


Hold On, Darling

by tonystark_tm



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, LET MCU TONY SAY DARLING, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, thank god i finally fucking finished a fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 08:17:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17863718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonystark_tm/pseuds/tonystark_tm
Summary: “It's so- I’m trying so hard, I don't know what's wrong with me-” then a low, shuddery sob escaped his lips and he reached for Tony like he was lost, like he was terrified, and Tony didn't know what had caused this but the love of his life was crying like he'd never seen and he did the only thing he could think to do: he pulled Steve into his arms, ran his fingers through his hair, and held on.





	Hold On, Darling

 

“Jarv, remind me to never go on two week long business trips ever again,” Tony groused as he walked into the apartment. He toed off his shoes at the door and set his suitcase down by the couch, it could wait until morning, and made his way to the bedroom. He wasn't tired, but he _really_ wanted to see Steve. Two weeks was far too fucking long to go without Steve.

Tony paused once he'd reached the bedroom doorway. It was three in the morning and yet their bed was empty. It was still made as well, so Steve hadn’t even bothered to try to sleep. Tony had his excuse for not sleeping, jet-lag was kind to no one, especially since he'd just gotten back home, but Steve hadn't gone anywhere out of the time zone recently.

“Where is he?” Tony asked, pulling off his suit jacket and unbuttoning his dress shirt. His tie hung loosely around his neck.

“Captain Rogers is down at the gym, Sir,” Jarvis said. There was a note of resignation in his tone, and Tony's frown deepened.

“How long has it been since he's slept?”

“Three days.”

Which, okay, Steve was capable of staying awake for four days without it severely impacting him, but he only went longer than two days if they were on a mission.

“If I may, Sir, he has also destroyed three of his specialized punching bags.”

Tony jumped to his feet so quickly that he almost fell over. “Why didn't you lead with that?” He snapped, pulling on a shirt and a pair of sweatpants. “Last time he did that, it was because I was in the medbay for five days.”

Tony half-ran to the elevator. He'd made those bags himself, he knew that they should have held up to Steve's strength. Either he'd been in the gym for far too long or he was using too much of his strength. He only did this when he was worried or upset, so something was wrong, but what?

Tony strode into the gym. Steve was in his usual spot, pounding away at one of his bags, but Tony immediately noticed that several things were wrong, aside from the broken bags littering the floor.

Steve's movements were more erratic than usual, like he was forcing himself to keep going. His breathing was heavier than usual, he'd scrapped his shirt altogether, he was shining with sweat, and- and his hand wraps weren’t as white as they should be, there were definitely red marks there. Shit, he'd beaten his hands bloody. He never did that.

Steve almost always reacted when Tony entered the gym, whether it was stopping to greet him or just murmuring a hello, but he didn't this time. He just kept pounding away. He was in his own head, wasn't he? Something was wrong.

Tony moved into his line of sight, and he still kept working. His eyes were dark and far away, like they got after nightmares-

The realization hit Tony like a truck. He was having another episode. He hadn't had one in several months, which was why Tony hadn't thought of it right away.

Steve said that sometimes he felt like he was caught between his past and the present, suspended in time as the world whirled around him. He was doing well in this era, of course he was, Steve could adapt to anything, but the change was staggering in its drasticisticy. He had lost everything, not to mention he'd been in the middle of the war when he'd gone under. He always had to follow through with what he did, and he never got to finish the war.

It was that sense of incompleteness that got to him, Steve said. It was like he had to go somewhere, do something, but there was nowhere to go.

Steve always got restless when this happened. Sudden noises made him flinch, but silence unnerved him. He was always on high alert, even after Tony reassured him that every security measure that he could possibly make was set in place and working.

Some nights, Steve couldn't stop himself from doing rounds in their own home. Other nights, he went down here.

They both knew that it was PTSD. Steve had a therapist and everything. But that wasn't an immediate fix.

“Hey, honey,” Tony murmured, making sure to keep a safe distance away just in case he tried to throw a punch. It had never happened before, and Tony doubted it ever would, but Steve had insisted on it.

Steve jolted to the side so that the still-swaying bag was between them. Tony didn't move.

“It's just me,” he said. “I'm just checking on you.”

Then Steve stepped out from behind punching bag. His posture was tense and his shoulders curled inward like he was trying to protect himself from something, but he gave Tony a forced, almosed pained smile. Sadness built up in Tony's throat at the sight.

“Hey, sorry. Glad you're back.”

His eyes slid away, then, and he made his way over to his gym bag. Tony eyed his hands: the wraps were bloody, just like he'd thought. His chest began to ache dully, and it wasn't from the arc reactor.

“Your hands,” he murmured, stepping forward. He stopped a foot in front of Steve- Tony liked, if not needed contact when he was upset, but sometimes it set Steve on edge.

Steve shook his head stiffly. “It's fine.”

“You're bleeding, honey, that's not fine. How did you bleed through the wraps?”

Steve's jaw ticked. He wasn't angry, but his eyes were still haunted. He was searching the area almost like he was doing it subconsciously, looking everywhere but Tony. He shook his head again.

“It's okay,” he murmured, “I'll be healed in the morning.” His voice was scratchy with- what, disuse? Pain?

“Honey,” Tony tried again. He crouched down in front of Steve, because if he was going to stare at the ground, fine, Tony would just move to his eye level, “that's not the point. You're hurting.”

“I’m-” he cut himself off and jerked his head down so that he was staring at his bloodied hands. “It's- it's okay, darling.” Steve rarely lied to Tony about anything, but when he did, it was about how he felt. In a better world, Tony could fault him for it, but he wasn't a hypocrite. He understood the need to keep feelings secret, whether it was a good thing or not. He just wished he knew how to help.

Tony had to remind himself that Steve wasn't like him. Steve couldn't always handle being around people when he was like this, even when it was Tony. He sighed and rocked back onto his heels. “Do you want me to leave or stay? It's up to you.”

Steve didn't reply. His right hand was shaking ever so slightly, and he seemed mesmerized by it.

“I'm gonna leave unless you say otherwise,” he said, and it hurt him to say it. He wanted to clean Steve's hands for him and usher him to the shower, kiss him until there was a semblance of light in his eyes, hold him in bed and keep his nightmares away, but what Steve said went.

His jaw ticked, but he just kept staring at his hands. Tony breathed out a nearly inaudible sigh and stood. “Love you,” he murmured. “I'll be in bed. I-” he shrugged, “I hope you come to bed, but the guest room is open, too.”

His hand was hovering over the elevator buttons when Steve spoke again. His voice was hoarse.

“No, sorry. I-” he took in a shuddering breath, “can you- can you stay?”

He turned. Steve had begun to pull the wraps off, but it seemed as if he'd given up on it. He looked unusually small there, on the bench in their massive gym. In the daytime, Steve's presence seemed to fill the room with light, but at nighttime he always seemed dulled. Nighttime practices were less about exercising and more about staving off nightmares, anyway. It wasn't the same.

“Of course,” Tony murmured, heading back over. He knelt in front of Steve and held his hands out, gently telling him to give him a hand, and Steve did. He unwrapped them with overt caution, maybe, but Steve deserved to be handled delicately sometimes.

Steve had split his first and second knuckles on both of his hands. Blood was smeared on his fingers, more than what Tony had expected, and the realization made him feel vaguely nauseous. God, he must have been down here for a while.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, not looking up at him. It would only stress him more.

“Not now,” he rasped, and that was good enough for Tony.

“Okay.” He put away the wraps and picked up Steve’s bag. “Come up to the room with me? I want to clean your hands up.”

Steve’s face crumpled for a moment, just slightly, and then the expression was gone. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

Steve almost seemed to drag his feet as they made their way to the elevator; it was like he was just going through the motions, walking because Tony had a hand on his back. He was never this far gone, and another surge of worry coursed through Tony.

He was really beginning to regret going on that business trip, mandatory or not. Steve had needed him here. He could've called, texted, hell, asked Jarvis tell Tony that he wasn't feeling well and Tony would've come back in a second, but he _hadn't._ It wasn't Steve's fault, of course it wasn't, and Tony knew that it wasn't his no matter how badly he wanted it to be. It was just a thing. Steve could've gotten help, but no, he'd gone down to the gym and beaten his hands bloody.

Steve swayed against his hand as they stood in the elevator. Tony took the hint and pulled him into a hug as well as he could- Steve was half a foot taller than him and built like a rugby player, but he did what he could. It was unlike Steve to be this quiet and unaffectionate, and Tony almost felt like he had to compensate. Steve needed his affection.

He didn't say anything when Steve shook in his arms, just the once. He was fighting to stay in control when he didn't have to.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I know you're hurting, and you don't have to say it back, but I want to remind you. I love you, and not despite this. I love you just as much on your worst days as I do on your best days. I love every part of you, even the parts that hurt.”

Steve’s breath hitched and a soft, nearly inaudible whine formed in his throat. Tony had to blink away tears as they suddenly threatened to fill his eyes, Steve was hurting, he was hurting and he was still trying to stay strong. It wasn't _fair,_ Tony _hated_ that he did this to himself, put everyone's health before his own.

The door opened and they made their way to the bathroom. This, at least, was familiar. They had spent countless hours after battles patching up each other's smaller wounds in here. Steve sat on the counter without a word as Tony pulled out the first aid kit.

“You don't have to do this,” Steve said, when Tony began to dampen a washcloth. In any other time, he'd have responded sarcastically, _‘oh, shit, forgot that this isn't my job’_ or _‘of course not, dipshit’_ , but, as it was, Tony just shook his head and offered Steve a small smile.

“I want to help you,” he murmured. “You shouldn't have to handle this alone, any of it.”

“I know,” he rasped. Tony began to wipe the blood off his hands- the cuts had already scabbed over, so he didn't have to worry about making them worse.

They were silent for a while, as Tony cleaned the blood off, applied some cream, and put bandages on him. Tony took extra care with him, to show him through actions rather than words that he wanted to help. That he'd always be there to help.

Tony didn't understand why Steve was so hesitant to ask for help. He was always telling Tony to ask when he needed it, and he was always, _always_ there for him, but he never took his own advice. Tony didn't know if it was because he was dead-set on fixing it himself, which he wasn't sure of, or if he didn't think he deserved help, or if he was too ashamed to ask, or if he was holding onto some twisted forties mentality that men didn't feel things.

“Thank you,” Steve suddenly said, both rushing the words out and sounding painfully sincere. Tony looked up at him. His eyes were beginning to water and oh, god, he'd never seen him cry before. “Thank you, I-” he shuddered, then curled in on himself as if he was trying to minimize the pain he was in. “It's so- I’m trying so hard, I don't know what's wrong with me-” then a low, shuddery sob escaped his lips and he reached for Tony like he was lost, like he was terrified, and Tony didn't know what had caused this but the love of his life was crying like he'd never seen and he did the only thing he could think to do: he pulled Steve into his arms, ran his fingers through his hair, and held on.

It wasn't a comfortable angle to be stuck in- Steve sitting on the counter and holding onto Tony, who was on his tiptoes so that he could hold him correctly, but Tony wasn't going to complain. Steve was crying for the first time in what was probably since the thirties and, god, he needed to not say that out loud, and he needed this, so Tony was going to give it to him. Steve cried almost silently. He was shaking with emotion and holding Tony a little too tightly, but that was okay, and-

He was making little aborted cries, like choked-off sobs, and Tony realized that the man was _still_ holding back. Something in his chest unhinged at the thought. He was trying _so hard_ to do something that was only hurting him. He was shaking with an effort to control himself.

“Steve,” Tony murmured, “Steve, darling, listen to me?”

Steve stilled and, with an effort that hurt Tony to look at, pulled away. Tony moved forwards and cupped the back of his neck, then pressed their foreheads together.

“No, listen,” he breathed, “I don't know what's going through your head, but you _need_ to stop trying to hide what you're feeling. You're crying and that's okay, darling, it's _okay,_ but you're still holding back, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said. Tony pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“It's just me, darling, you don't have to hide with me. You're hurting and you need to cry and that's okay, that will always be okay, you hear me? Always.” He ran a shaking hand through Steve's hair. Steve leant into it, more tears falling down his cheeks, and he felt a bolt of pain bury itself in his chest. “Let's go to the bed.”

Steve was all but blinded by his tears, and Tony had to guide him to the bed. He held onto Tony like he was his lifeline when they got there, but he was still silent, still fighting, and Tony ran his hand up and down Steve's back.

“You're safe with me,” he said,his voice cracking, “don't make yourself hold back, honey, I love you, you don't have to fight yourself like this. Please don't do this to yourself.”

It was like something clicked. He slumped against Tony and a body-wracking sob was torn out of his throat, broken and heart-wrenching. It hit Tony like a stab to the gut, but he couldn't let it show. He held onto Steve as he sobbed, murmured encouragement, and hoped that his voice didn't shake.

When Steve stopped crying twenty minutes later, he tried to pull away. Tony tightened his grip on him.

“No. You aren't gonna run off and hide like that was something to be ashamed of.” His voice was soft. “Don't do that to yourself, darling, please.”

Steve relaxed against him again, then sighed. “Sorry,” he rasped. “I- I'm still sorry.”

“What did I just say?” Tony asked, but there was no heat in it. He began to rub circles into Steve's back, and the man almost seemed to liquefy. He smiled weakly. “Can you sleep?”

“Maybe?” His voice was small.

“Try to,” he murmured. “I'm gonna stay right here.”

He was out like a light in less than a minute. Tony wasn't so lucky, worried as he was, but he eventually fell asleep as well.

Steve kissed Tony awake the next morning. Tony came to slowly like he always did when Steve treated him to this, murmuring half-awake greetings and giggly thanks as Steve mouthed along his collarbone. He didn't do it in an attempt to move farther down but just because it made Tony feel loved. They both had had times in their life, years, even, when they didn't receive the love they needed. They made up for it every day now, with constant affection and compliments and touches, so many touches, because they both sorely needed contact and rarely ever got it.

Tony smiled blearily and felt his cheeks heat as Steve peppered his neck and chest with kisses. One hand rested on Tony's waist and his other arm was braced beside his head, boxing him in protectively.

“Oh, hey,” he mumbled, running a hand through Steve's hair, “thank you. Cutie.”

Steve laughed against his neck and nipped at his jaw, making Tony giggle.

“You're the cutie.”

“Mm, no,” Tony whined. “Y're.”

“You,” Steve shot back, looking up at Tony with bright eyes. “You are.”

Tony wrapped his arms around Steve's neck, too sleepy to do so with any sort of finesse. “You.”

Then Steve was tickling his sides like the traitor he was, and Tony couldn't get away in their current position. He writhed against him anyway, laughing helplessly, a thousand times happier than what he thought was possible. He was warm, in bed with the love of his life, and nothing was wrong.

Oh, wait a second.

Tony blinked blearily and looked down at Steve, who was now underneath him. He was smiling a Tony with an arm raised above his head, looking as careless as could be. It was hard to imagine that he'd been sobbing like the world was ending less than ten hours before.

“Hey, honey,” Tony murmured, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, still grinning. Tony didn't miss the flash of uncertainty in his eyes. Tony didn't answer, just picked up and inspected one of his hands. The cuts had mostly healed, minus some faint marks, but Tony remembered how bad they'd been.

“Steve,” Tony murmured, an almost pleading note in his voice. “Please. You scared me.”

That got a reaction out of him. Steve's brow furrowed and he leant forward, just a bit, his eyes softening. “I didn't even thi k about that, baby, I'm-”

Tony covered his mouth and gave him a look. “If you apologize, I am going to get out of this lovely warm bed and take the blankets with me.”

Steve's lip twitched at that. “Okay. I just…” he sighed and his eyes slid away. Tony didn't say anything about it. He curled up against Steve so that they weren't even facing each other, so Steve didn't feel like he was being pressured into talking.

“You were in pain,” Tony whispered, “you were trying so hard to ignore it, but it was tearing you apart. I-” he laughed weakly, “and you don't _have_ to tell me about it. It's okay either way. But I was scared, honey. I got home from my trip at three in the morning and you were beating your hands bloody in the gym. And you cried, honey, and that's okay, of course it is, but I've never seen you cry before.”

He felt Steve sigh, then run a hand through his hair. They were quiet. Tony wasn't sure if Steve was going to speak or not, but he hadn't run away, yet, so he was willing to try his luck.

“It was a couple of things,” Steve said eventually. Tony resisted the urge to groan in relief. “My nightmares have been getting bad again,” he admitted faintly, and Tony frowned. Since when? “It's been… two weeks? a couple days before you left. It's normal for me to have them two or three nights in a row, but they kept going and getting worse, and I went ten days straight before just giving up. I missed you. We call every night, but I didn't want to worry you, and-”

“Don't let that stop you,” Tony protested, and Steve shrugged.

“I know. And, if our situations were reversed I'd say the same thing, but I didn't want you to worry. You already have so much to do.” Tony shifted, but didn't say anything. “I wanted to call you. But- I also didn’t want to say that I was scared of my nightmares, which doesn't make sense because they’re fucking awful, but.” He paused. “So I had barely slept, and every time I closed my eyes I either saw the ice or- or everyone I lost, and I was torn between telling you and keeping you out of it, and I was tired. I was so tired.” His voice wavered. A lump formed in Tony’s throat. He pressed against Steve as well as he could, silently offering his support, and Steve put an arm around his shoulders.

“How bad was your PTSD?” Tony found himself asking. He had meant to let Steve tell him on his own time, but he'd looked so _haunted_ last night.

Steve responded with a watery laugh. “Oh, god, I had never been so glad to see you in my life. It was- it hasn't been that bad in months, I felt like someone had a gun trained on me the entire time. I was half listening for explosions or planes flying overhead, or one of the Commandos yelling for me, and then you walked in and everything slotted into place and I could breathe again, but it hurt, because you, you're my grounding point, but part of me was still falling towards the ice.” His voice cracked, and he pulled Tony a little tighter against him. “I didn't really realize I was safe until we were in the bathroom, and I tried to hold it together, I didn't want to cry, I didn't have a reason to _cry.”_ He gritted it out like it was a curse word.

Tony looked up at him and narrowed his eyes. Steve blinked.

“What?”

“Do you blame me for crying after my nightmares?”

Horror flashed across his face. “What? No! Of course not, I-”

“Then why is it stupid for you to have a breakdown after ten nearly sleepless nights and during a PTSD episode?”

Steve opened his mouth to argue, but came up with nothing. Tony sighed and pressed a kiss to his jaw.

“You were exhausted, and scared, and you missed me.” The last part didn't quite compute for Tony, but he doubted it ever would, “and then I showed up and you were exhausted and scared and relieved and in pain and you didn't know what to do so you ended up crying. Would you be upset if I did that?”

“No,” he said sullenly. Tony nodded.

“So stop thinking that you can hide your feelings.”

Steve was quiet for a moment. “Okay” he said softly.

“I love you.” Tony sat up and kissed Steve’s nose, just to see the way he blushed, “let's get some breakfast.”

**Author's Note:**

> Itsallavengers and bigstarkenergy were both yelling at me to write and actually finish something, and they always know best, so I actually did. Hell yeah babes.


End file.
